


As Your Doctor...

by apidologist



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Medical Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:18:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apidologist/pseuds/apidologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A professionally concerned doctor tends to his rather insufferable patient with the utmost thoroughness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Your Doctor...

Sherlock Holmes, as methodical as he is in his investigations, can be an incredibly careless man as regards his own health and well-being. He often returns from his more physically gruelling cases bruised, bloody, and stumbling from exhaustion, remarking that he is lucky to have his very own live-in doctor before collapsing into a chair and submitting to an examination. On other occasions, he attempts to hide his injuries for fear of aggravating me. Either way, he has become far more reckless of late, for reasons I have only just begun to determine.

Perhaps the strangest development to arise from this propensity of his is my increasingly earnest pleasure in caring for him. While it grieves me to see him ill or injured, of course, I feel extremely capable in my training and confident that I am able to heal him from whatever ailment he is suffering. It might be argued that I am satisfied whenever I have been able to help a person in need of medical services, but Sherlock Holmes, eccentric at the best of times, is not exactly a normal patient, and tends to encourage some eccentricities in his doctor as well.

On one particular occasion, he returned to Baker Street just as the heavy rain had lulled me to sleep and I was beginning to snore over an old novella. The slam of the front door wasn’t quite enough to rouse me, but his shouting as he bounded up the stairs soon completed the task.

“Watson!” His voice, indicating high spirits, rang out as he burst through the sitting room door and stood dripping on the threshold.

“Good heavens, Holmes–”

“We caught him, Watson! If you’ll believe it, Lestrade finally took my advice to heart and showed up just in time to apprehend the devil.”

“I suppose you’d like me to congratulate you.”

“I must say I wouldn’t be opposed to some word of flattery, my dear fellow, even a small bit of applause, if you’d prefer it.”

“ _Honestly_ , Holmes. Tell me what has happened to your arm; you are holding it stiffly.”

“Just a scratch, the scoundrel had a blade on him, but luckily I was quicker.”

My jaw tightened, mind suddenly awash with all the horrible possibilities of what could have occurred, and chest constricting with regret that I was unable to accompany him on this adventure, and possibly prevent the ensuing injury. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing, as I said, a mere scratch, absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“As your doctor, I must insist.”

He sighed dramatically. “Well then, _Doctor_ , if it would set your mind at ease…”

This was a common routine: the initial protestation, the stern argument, the weak insistence that nothing was really the matter, and the final hesitation before giving in to my demands to see him cared for properly. He gingerly removed his shirt and vest and dropped inelegantly to the settee with an air of petulance.

I removed the handkerchief that was tied around his arm to staunch the bleeding and examined the wound. It was quite shallow, but would still benefit from careful and meticulous cleaning, a few stitches, and a proper set of bandages. I gave Holmes a bit of brandy to help with the pain, then set to work and quickly completed the job, but just as he seemed to enjoy keeping pertinent information from me when I assisted him with his cases, he also liked to keep any subcutaneous injuries secret for as long as possible, so I examined his neck, back, and sides, searching for bruising or discomfort. Though I found nothing serious, I massaged the tense muscles of his back, digging my knuckles and thumbs into his shoulders and gently rubbing the nape of his neck.

“Is this a common medical procedure?” he asked in amusement. I huffed and made no answer, knowing that he would complain if I stopped. I continued until he let his head fall forward and made a noise of contentment, and I gave his shoulder an affectionate pat before resuming my seat on the small stool.

“Nicely done, Holmes. I’ll check the bandages in the morning to ensure there’s no chance of infection; I did clean the wound thoroughly, but there’s always a small risk when one goes around obtaining knife wounds in seedy alleyways.” He had the good grace to look a bit sheepish, and began to push himself to his feet, but I quickly placed my hands on his shoulders and he sunk back into the cushions of the settee. “Ah, now, I didn’t say I was finished, Holmes. Remove your trousers, if you please.”

Holmes stared at me, face reddening.

“You were limping. I heard you on the stairs, Holmes; you were alternating two and one.”

“Who on earth taught you to be so observant?” he grumbled, stubbornly crossing his left leg over the right and wincing minutely.

I sat in front of him on the footrest, resolutely waiting for him to heed my request.

“Very well, Doctor,” he managed, voice wavering only slightly. With his uninjured arm he reached for the fastenings of his trousers, and quickly tugged them down around his ankles and kicked them aside.

At this point it was becoming difficult for me to maintain my professionality, but I kept my eyes fixed on his left knee, which was covered in a bruise which blossomed up his thigh like water spilled over a droplet of ink. I met Holmes’ eyes inquisitively.

“Boot heel – I had his hands pinned, but he kicked at me before Lestrade and his men could restrain him.”

I made sure that his joints were unaffected, taking hold of a socked ankle and bringing his knee up to his chest, then straightening his leg completely. I palpated the area around the bruise, examining his kneecap delicately and resting my other hand on his thigh. Holmes bore my scrutiny quietly, but his breathing became more and more rapid as I massaged the muscles of his calf and thigh more thoroughly. Allowing myself a quick glance further upward, I noticed an entirely different sort of problem beginning to manifest itself.

“Well, Holmes, unless anything else is giving you trouble,” (I paused sufficiently to let him know that I could see perfectly well what was giving him quite an impressive amount of _trouble_ ) “all I can advise from this point is to get some rest, and let me know if your condition worsens in any way.” I removed my hand from his thigh and slowly began to pack up my medical bag.

“Actually, Watson–” I raised an eyebrow and he cleared his throat, softly amending “ _Doctor_ Watson – there _is_ one problem I’ve been having some difficulty in ameliorating.”

My breath hitched slightly. It was nearly impossible to continue my clinical coolness, but it was too late to go back now. I had set the scene, and I must be faithful to my role. “If you would tell me the exact nature of the issue, I’m certain I could bring you some relief.”

Flushed and hot, Holmes reclined back into the cushions, his erection becoming all the more obvious through his thin undergarments. He rubbed his palm slowly across the thin fabric. “ _This_ has become rather persistent of late.”

“When, precisely, did it start to become a problem?”

“Well, Doctor, it began three days ago, when _someone_ , supposedly accidentally, insinuated their socked foot into my lap beneath the breakfast table while I was reading the morning paper, and such insufferable distractions continued for days until my reactions began interfering with my work. I – I attempted to clear the matter up myself, with my own methods, but I was always unsuccessful.” Throughout this speech he continued to stroke himself, increasing his speed without breaking eye contact, determined to make me lose control with his small noises of pleasure and exigence.

“Stop.” I regarded him sternly and he paused in his movements, shifting his hips and fidgeting slightly. “Beyond a certain point, there is little respite to be found in onanism.”

He inhaled shakily and inquired, “What do you suggest?”

“It is often far easier with some form of assistance. If you would permit me, as your doctor, I would be glad to provide this for you.” Holmes nodded, eagerness now slowed by heavy arousal, and I shifted the low footstool even closer to the settee.

I leaned over his lap, between his spread thighs, and placed my hands on his hips. “This garment can only hinder the effectiveness of the procedure.” He shifted upwards and I pulled the offending material from him, setting it to one side with the already-discarded trousers. “Now, usually my hand alone would be very useful in clearing up problems of this nature. But as I can see that it is such an urgent and serious case, I am obliged to use my mouth as well. If, of course, there are no objections.”

“Whatever you think is best, Doctor.”

“Quite right.” I rested my hands on his hips and leaned forward, meeting Holmes’ eyes as I swiped my tongue across the head of his cock, which already glistened with fluid, and slowly dragged my open mouth along the length of him.

He groaned and moved a hand to my shoulder, moving his thin fingers lightly upwards to settle in my hair. I teased him until he was fairly writhing against the cushions, then without warning, took him into my mouth completely and began rhythmically sliding my tongue against the underside of his shaft. Less than a minute of this and I could go no longer without relieving myself in some way, so continued my ministrations as I reached for the fastenings of my trousers, finally taking myself in hand.

“Is that also – _ahh_ – part of the treatment, Doctor?”

The sensation of my muffled laughter caused him to shudder convulsively, and I moved my free hand soothingly across his good leg and over the curve of his hip. I momentarily slowed my speed, then increased it again even faster than before, causing Holmes to inhale sharply. His hips moved frantically as I attempted to maintain the rhythm of my hand and mouth, and after just two more of these quick gasps, he cried out incomprehensibly, and spilled his release over my tongue and down my throat.

“ _Watson_.”

With that familiar utterance of my name, the scene dissolved into thin air – I swallowed the final pulses of his ejaculate and rose from my seat to grip the back of neck and kiss him intensely. Holmes kept one hand in my hair and moved the other to where I was still stroking myself, and seconds later, thrusting into his firm grip, I gave in to the pleasure that had been threatening to take me all along. Knees weak, I sat next to him and tried to catch my breath, which would have been difficult enough without my patient, _my Holmes_ , half-reclining beside me with the majority of my release spread across his chest and stomach.

As I pulled a handkerchief from my trouser pocket, Holmes pressed a soft kiss to my temple, and leaned into my shoulder with a sigh of satisfaction. “They taught you all that at Bart’s, did they? I really _must_ send a note of thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> Um, so much for pretending I'm not into medical kink.


End file.
